


No Energy

by thelotusflower



Category: South Park
Genre: Character Study, Depression, M/M, Main 4 friendship heavy in this one bruh, References to Depression, Self-Destruction, Stan is sad, im sorry stan, this is not super shippy. but, to project
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:42:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28814334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelotusflower/pseuds/thelotusflower
Summary: Stan has been slipping in his mental health.Kenny checks up on him.
Relationships: (mentioned) - Relationship, Kyle Broflovski/Craig Tucker, Stan Marsh/Kenny McCormick
Comments: 10
Kudos: 20





	No Energy

**Author's Note:**

> TW: depression
> 
> So, this is literally me projecting all over poor Stanley Marsh. I’m so sorry. Um........ I’m sorry.

His family thought he was gay. He supposed they were not completely wrong. He sometimes thought of boys that way… stared a little too long… got too hot and bothered at the image of Kenny hooking up with a boy.

It didn’t help when Kyle came out. That’s when the comments were made. They would say, “ _we want you to know that we accept Kyle and we accept you,”_ or _“if there is anything you want to tell us, know that you can say anything,”_ or from his dad, “ _you know Stan, I come to think of men from time to time, and that’s totally okay_ ,” or when he was drunk, _“I think it’d be really cool if you were gay.”_

He ignored them because they seemed to think he was into Kyle which was simply not true and sounded like border-line incest if he thought too deeply into it.

He liked girls though too.

He just didn’t really engage with them. He supposed he was once better. He had a couple girlfriends at the beginning of high school but his romantic life or sexual endeavors were nearly non-existent of late. He supposed he didn’t really try. He didn’t go up to girls and ask them out. He didn’t _talk_ to girls, but most of the time, he just didn’t have the energy to. Flirting was something that took _a lot_ of energy.

It also didn’t help that in ninth grade, Wendy wanted to have sex and he was unable to get it up. He was drunk, and blamed it on being drunk, but he also just oddly felt sad. He should have been happy. What was wrong with him that he wasn’t happy? It just felt like it should have been something so special and _big_ but it was just a normal day. He had been on and off with Wendy for six years; he should have felt more exited or something… but it just kind of felt like something to check off on his list of life experiences.

They tried again and he was able to get hard, but that first time still mortified him to this day. They broke up later that year when Wendy claimed they were too _stagnant_ and he agreed, although it still hurt. He felt it was he who was at fault. Wendy was so smart, so pretty, so _perfect._ She was someone who was going to be successful in life. She was someone who was not going to let her short-comings stop her; someone who was not going to let _Stan Marsh_ stop her.

He supposed he didn’t just feel like a burden to his ex-girlfriend, but everyone else too.

He supposed that he was different than his friends. He was always different. He always had the days where he slipped; days where he just proceeded to not care about staying in touch or the consequences of his actions that would follow. He was not always pleasant to be around; somewhat irritable and unfocused.

He knew that.

He tried to channel it into football. He tried to put those negative feelings into the ball. He tried to throw away the negative thoughts with the throw of the football. He tried to tackle as if he was tackling his demons.

But, sadly, his demons were a lot scarier than a seventeen-year-old from North Park.

After the games, there would sometimes be parties. He would go to them, drink, and have a good time. He felt better when he drank. He drank often for this reason. He didn’t keep track, but most nights, he would steal a beer from his dad’s stash, it going unnoticed.

  
When Kyle would see him do it, he would scold him. He was used to it. He knew he should stop taking them out around Kyle, but he always thought maybe the redhead wouldn’t say anything if he waited long enough time to do it again. Well, that never worked, but he kept doing it anyway; telling himself it was out of _hope_ and not the _desperation_ to have a bottle in his hold.

At the parties he would go to, he would sometimes make-out with girls. Alcohol made this much easier. Of course, his parents did not know of these make-out sessions though, and oftentimes, they just were that. _Make out sessions._

Which.

Was also his fault. But to be fair, none of the girls really held his interest. They all were just too much energy to talk to; none of them held his attention span, and they always ended upset over his late text responses. They said he was not _engaged_ with them.

Which, was true.

He wasn’t sure if it was the girls at his school, or just himself, but he didn’t want to date any of them.

It got worse once Kyle began to date Craig.

His parents would _pity_ him, still convinced he was in love with Kyle, or had dated him at some point. They often said things like, “I think Kyle can do better,” (Stan _did_ agree) and “maybe he is trying to make you jealous, huh?” (Which _no,_ Kyle really liked Craig).

Not that he gave a shit about Kyle and Craig.

But he was sick of his parents thinking he was _gay,_ or _in love with Kyle,_ for that matter.

He didn’t date girls, but that didn’t mean he was gay. He might be bi, but he still _liked_ girls. He just didn’t like the girls in this town, at least enough to date them.

He also just didn’t think anyone would want to handle it. He was a mess. He had good days, but most of them felt bad. Most felt like he was slipping, and it was often easier to slip than to try to hold on. So that’s what he let himself do… he let himself slip.

Sometimes he would claim his father wanted help on the farm so he could avoid his friends. He just didn’t feel like being around them and fake being okay. He just didn’t want to have to use the energy to pretend. He didn’t want to have to sit there, watching something stupid on TV and force out a laugh. Matching the energies of others could be exhausting.

Sometimes he smoked with the goth kids, just to at least slip a little. They were so low-energy. He didn’t have to say anything around them. In fact, he thought that’s what they preferred. He didn’t have to be _funny_ around them. He didn’t have to be _engaging_ around them. He didn’t have to be _anything_ around them. He could just exist with smoke in his lungs and no words on his tongue.

He supposed it got pretty bad the second half of Junior Year.

He no longer had football to channel his energy into. Most days, he just headed straight-home after school, plugging in on one his mindless video games and letting the days pass. He supposed it consumed most of his time. He missed more and more assignments, even with Kyle’s endless offers to help him.

He just didn’t have the energy.

It only made him feel worse to know he had things to do, and was capable of _doing_ them, but that he just _couldn’t._ There was something wrong with his brain. He was sure of it. He knew there had to be something wrong with him to be _incapable_ of just doing one thing that was not totally self-destructive.

But he began ghosting his friends more and more; giving more and more excuses to why he couldn’t come out that night. He knew that when they stopped trying as hard, he shouldn’t have blamed them, but somehow, he still did.

He felt more alone than ever; loneliest he had in his whole life and it was his own fault. He was so trapped inside his head that he could not provide explanation for why he lashed out, or why he reacted so negatively when he was questioned on why he was working on the farm in a thunderstorm (it was lie). He just couldn’t take any of it; he couldn’t manage to think of a proper reason to explain it, so maybe that’s why he lashed out. Maybe he wanted his friends to leave him alone; let him slip into the endless, _easy,_ pool of least-resistance. Maybe he wanted to separate himself, only to cry in the corner of his room, wishing he was with his friends — wishing he could go back to the times before his mind started to destroy him.

It was only earlier this night that his friends — well _Kenny_ — had asked him to play basketball. He said _I cant,_ not even offering an explanation. His friends didn’t bother asking for a reason anymore. He didn’t hear back from him and he assumed he was angry with him.

About an hour or so later, there was a knock at his door. He said _what_ in response and was surprised when he heard, _hey, it’s me._

He knew the voice.

He sat up from bed and walked over to the door. He knew the voice, but was still somehow surprised when he saw blonde curls and amber eyes behind it. He swallowed. “Oh hey Kenny,” he greeted with a blink.

“You’re not gonna kick me out, are you?” Kenny asked, a half-raised smile on his long, pink lips. “I know you said you couldn’t hang…”

“No, it’s cool, come in,” Stan stepped from the doorway to let the blonde inside. The blonde stepped inside and Stan closed the door. It was quiet aside from the soft patter of their footsteps as Stan took a seat on the floor beside his bed.

Kenny sat criss-cross opposite of him. Stan sucked in a breath as he stared down at the floor with pursed lips. He waited for Kenny to speak.

“You know. I actually came for your _mom,_ like she called me, asked me to bang, and I was like _hell yeah, dude,_ be right there.”

Stan glared at him.

“But then I was like, you know what? I’m gonna check in with my buddy, Stan, first… So here I am,” he threw his hands up with a lopsided grin.

“I hate you so much.”

“You’ll hate me even more after I leave this room,” he waggled his eyebrows.

Stan shook his head. “You’re disgusting,” he said. “Like, I’m going to barf all over you.”

“Kinky.”

_“No,_ ”

“What, you never heard of barf-play?” Kenny tipped his chin down with a wide grin. He blew a raspberry, “fuckin’ virgin.”

Stan rolled his eyes but held a smile regardless. Kenny knew damn well he wasn’t one. “Kenny, I really don’t want to hear about your sexual endeavors.”

“Really? Then why do you blush whenever I bring them up?”

He wasn’t sure if it was the gleam in Kenny’s amber eyes or the coy smirk, or just the truth behind the words, but Stan felt his face heat up.

_God dammit._

He bowed his chin down and stared back to the carpet. He ran his fingers over it. “I do fucking not.”

“Hmm,” Kenny hummed. “It’s okay. It’s _cute._ Why do you think I tell you about them so much?”

“Because you are a giant perv?” He peaked up to catch Kenny smile and shrug.

“You got me there.”

Stan shook his head, a small puff of laughter escaping his lips as he looked to the floor again. He knew Kenny wasn’t just _here._ He knew something was coming. Kenny always made a ton of jokes before approaching something serious. He swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “Sorry… I couldn’t hang tonight,” he connected their stare.

Kenny’s soft smile faltered. He nodded with a half-shrug. “It’s okay dude…” he said. “I just, you know, miss you and all that shit… Like, being around Cartman all the time is… entertaining, but honestly, I’m beginning to get why Kyle gets so pissed at him all the time, like… I don’t know dude. The dynamics off. And Kyle, he’s like _Kyle,_ but like I can’t talk about how I stole my parents truck to come here without him giving me some lecture on how I shouldn’t drive without a license.”

The corner of Stan’s lips tugged into a small smile. “And he would probably lecture you on stealing their car.”

“Exactly. Like. I love him, but. He can’t handle me like you can.”

Stan’s grin widened at that. He didn’t know _why_ that made him feel so _good_ but it did. He sucked in a breath through his nose as his eyes landed on the carpet again; surely his cheeks were covered in crimson as he felt his face was very warm. He exhaled through his nose, unsure what to say.

“We all really miss you… Like… A lot. Like, even Cartman constantly brings you up; like _stupid Stan won’t come hangout,_ and talks about it the _whole_ night, and of course he doesn’t actually admit to missing you, due to being a literal psychopath, but like _man,_ you think you were his ex or something with how much he mentions you.”

Stan grimaced at the blonde. “Please never refer to Cartman as my ex ever again.”

Kenny laughed; laughed in the way he always laughed, his whole face lighting up and shoulders jerking. Kenny was the type to laugh with his whole body. Kenny’s laugh lit up a room. It lit up _Stan’s_ room.

Stan looked to the carpet again.

“And Kyle, man, dude, sweet thing, he’s losing his goddamn shit! He’s like, _scary._ He is so angry because he is so confused about what’s happening, and he just is like, losing his actual shit. I honestly feel bad for Cartman because he seems to be taking it out on him — but like, he also _deserves_ it so…”

Stan smacked his lips together. He knew Kyle was confused. He knew that he was abandoning him and lashing out on him for no reason. He knew that Kyle was trying to see past it. He knew that Kyle did his best to understand _him._ He knew that his friend could only do so much for him; he had his limits. He knew he shouldn’t feel abandoned, since he has been the one _abandoning,_ but yet he still did.

“So Craig hasn’t replaced me yet?”

Kenny threw his head back in laughter. “As if that asshole could _ever_! Unless you secretly _have_ been in love with Kyle this whole time, then yeah, I guess so.”

Stan scowled. “ _No._ I haven’t.”

Kenny sniggered. “Well, then I guess you’re safe,” he smiled.

Stan gave a weak smile back. He still felt _down_ ; like he was the reason this was happening at all. Kenny had to _update_ him on his friends because he was too distant to know about them himself.

“And how have you been without me?”

There was a brief moment of silence. Kenny glanced down, blonde eyelashes replacing amber irises. He huffed through his nose. “I’m really worried about you, more than anything, like… I just think about you, and I think of how it’s been in the past… And this just seems… It seems like it’s really bad this time.”

Stan immediately looked down as he felt the corner of his eyes well up with water. He blinked a couple of times to wash it away. “I — I,” he mouthed; tried to speak, to defend he was fine, but it was harder to lie in person as opposed to over text. His eyes continued to well up. He wiped a rogue tear of his cheek.

Kenny waited.

Stan huffed out a deep breath. “I don’t know. I just. I really feel like … I don’t know? I feel just… sad a lot. Like… - most times, I don’t even really know why, which kind of makes it worse?”

His voice cracked. Tears ran.

He continued.

“I just feel like I’m sad, about _nothing_ and ruining my life over _nothing_ and it’s like,” he rubbed his eyes; _tears_. “It’s like I just feel myself spiraling? But it’s just… So much easier to spiral than anything else?” He sniffled. He was full on crying now. It wouldn’t stop. “It’s just. I feel – God, I’m so — lost.”

He heard movement. He looked up to find Kenny coming closer. Kenny pulled him into a tight embrace, and that’s when he completely _lost_ it — releasing the sob that’s been caught in his throat for god know’s how long.

He let it out, in between saying that he’s sorry, and being dumb. Kenny told him it’s okay. He reassured him he was not dumb. He rubbed circles on his back and threaded his hands through his hair. He held him until he stopped crying; until he no longer needed to lean on him for support.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry, the end was so abrupt. Idk how to conclude shit.


End file.
